Xavier woke up naked, the sheets tangled beneath him like ripped silk. The room was warm with the faint trace of last night's heat still hanging in the air. For a second, he just lay there, arm over his forehead, staring at the ceiling like it might flash a memory or two.
No one beside him.
He sat up slowly. The bedsheets were creased and stained with the raw mess of what they'd done. His clothes were scattered across the floor. Her robe, too. He smirked at that.
Xavier got up, stretched his back with a grunt, and pulled his pants on. As he buttoned up, he heard it—quiet movement from the kitchen.
He walked over barefoot and leaned against the doorframe.
Seraphina was there.
